


Flightless

by MissusMonster



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Drabble, Dylemma - Freeform, F/M, Romance, kind of hurt/comfort idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissusMonster/pseuds/MissusMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That had not exactly been the dinner Dylan had had in mind when he'd asked Emma the morning before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flightless

**Author's Note:**

> I have shipped Dylemma since season one, and now it's happening. I had to do something about it. Takes place after the dinner in 3x07.

Flightless

 

Most nights Dylan found the near complete silence that surrounded the old house on the hill unnerving, and that night was no exception. It gave his stomach a funny turn, like he'd eaten something that was just beginning to go bad. He stood a safe distance away from the screened in back porch, the collar of his leather jacket turned up against the slight chill that had found its way into the breeze after the sun had gone down. Curls of smoke hung in the air and Dylan took another deep drag from the cigarette clamped between his fingers. 

The evening had gone well, relatively speaking. As well as it could have. He wanted to be annoyed with Norma for hijacking everything to suit her own purposes (again), but he knew she was just feeling out of control and had needed to take it back in some way. Still, he couldn't help the sliver of disappointment added to his discontent that painfully itched at him like a palm-full of splinters. 

Behind him, the screen door screeched open, then slapped shut, breaking the stillness. It was the steady squeak of wheels that accompanied the footsteps approaching him that had Dylan tossing his smoke and batting away the cloud of silver that surrounded him. 

“Thanks,” Emma said, rewarding him with a small smile and a flash of her dimples. Dylan felt a little of that sick feeling fade away. She was the reason behind his disappointment, but not in anyway that was her fault. 

That had not exactly been the dinner Dylan had had in mind when he'd asked Emma the morning before. 

“I shouldn't be smoking,” was all he could think to answer with. Because what kind of an asshole was he? Filling his healthy lungs with tar and formaldehyde and arsenic and who knew what else, while she was leaning part of her weight on the oxygen tank that kept her damaged ones working. 

She shook her head, curls brushing against the sleeve of his jacket. “You should do what you want,” Emma told him. “But it is kind of gross.” 

Dylan didn't think that he'd ever just done what he wanted. He'd always done what he had to do, what other people needed him to do, but he'd never just because he wanted to. It seemed like an insane idea. “Hey, listen. Thanks for being cool with the family dinner,” Dylan said, tilting his head toward the house. “It seems like you spend every minute here.” 

“Not at all. I told you before, I care about this family a lot. And it was nice- I don't think I've ever seen Sheriff Romero smile before.” Emma turned and backed away a few paces, looking up at him. Her pale skin practically glowed as bright as the full moon hanging above them; her large, dark eyes sent a twist of warmth spreading through his chest. It was a feeling that'd he'd first experienced the other night, when she'd offered him help and kindness without expecting anything in return. Emma had no way of knowing just what that meant to Dylan. 

“Still, it wasn't exactly what I'd had planned,” he had to make that clear now. Dylan wanted to thank her for staying and helping, yes, but he also wanted something more. 

Emma seemed to be holding her breath, and Dylan couldn't help but think that that probably wasn't good for her, but he kept his mouth shut. “No?” Her voice was soft, low. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, before darting her tongue over the small hurt there. “Do you want to maybe give it another shot?” 

He knew that he would be leaving the next night, and he had no idea how long the run would keep him away. “Why don't we try for breakfast this time?” he suggested instead. Dylan would tell her then that he'd be gone. Maybe they could even talk while he was on the road. Why not? He just knew that he wanted to keep this warmth and whatever it was turning into. 

Something he wanted for himself, with Emma. 

“A breakfast date?” she asked, and Dylan had to smile at the term. “It'll be revolutionary. I'm game.” 

The sick feeling that always plagued him at night was gone, replaced with a curl of something else he couldn't name yet. Those splinters were still buried deep under his skin, there were just too many to forget but maybe for just a few hours, Dylan could ignore them and take the girl grinning up at him out for pancakes.


End file.
